Some thoughts on handwriting

I get it—many people nowadays don’t give handwriting a second thought. But when you’ve been dead serious about writing for roughly twenty-three years and are partial to working in longhand, handwriting is a major part of your existence. Who knows how many hours of my life have been spent staring at pages gradually getting populated with words. It has been many hours, I know that, and I won’t hesitate to admit they have been some of my fondest. I love writing. I love a papery existence. It’s a nice and peaceful little life.

Depending on your livelihood, your handwriting may not be just a private trait. Others may be able to identify you by your scrawl that is just as distinctive as your voice.

What does your handwriting mean to you? Does it embarrass you? Make you cringe? Or do you love it and consider it an integral part of your identity? And how do others react to your handwriting? Does it stand out and leave strong impressions for better or worse? Do you intend for it to convey anything about you?

My writing is typically a fusion of print and script—I tend to lean one way or the other depending on my mood or how rushed I feel. I’ve read somewhere that a combination of print and script is actually the fastest form of writing and that it is often seen used in academia. There’s no extracting the student from me. Ever.

Handwriting fascinates me and tends to invoke intense responses. When I see others use a sloppy, slapdash, apathetic hand, I am saddened—my feelings are even hurt, offended—because in my eyes, such strokes scream, “I don’t care. This act is beneath me.” Elegant handwriting excites me, fills me with joy. I don’t come across it often in the wild, and when I do see a fine example, I celebrate.

Although it’s a fun concept, I regard graphology, the theory that forming letters in a certain manner is linked with certain personality traits, as a load of bunk. Mostly. It makes sense that an introvert may write smaller while an extrovert may pen larger words, but there are other factors to take into consideration. What about health? Pain? Mood? Even a change in writing instruments can alter one’s handwriting! And what about aesthetic influences? Did anything or anyone ever inspire you to form letters the way you do? 

When I look through old notebooks, I can typically tell when I’ve been experiencing hand pain. My letters become larger, less uniform, even a bit unraveled-looking. Tiny, uniform letters usually appear only when I’m pain-free or extremely calm. Feeling stressed or rushed can bring on some painful looking letters, too.

My handwriting has had numerous influences over the years. I’ve recently started forming my t’s in a typewriter-esque style. The long flourishes that appear at the ends of some of my words (usually when concluding a line or thought, a sort of swoosh of finality) are inspired by my grandfather’s hand. My f’s are inspired by the forte of music notation. As for my all-caps block letters, that influence comes from my parents—and my fondness of comics, I suppose (not that those two influences go together, of course).

My grandfather had a very distinctive, and I daresay distinguished hand! I’m not so great at pulling off legibility with a ballpoint pen (the fountain pen is my weapon of choice), but he succeeded admirably.

I know people know me by my handwriting—they always have. It stands out, I’ll admit. On the one hand I know it’s a compliment. On the other, it makes me feel exposed, as if there is no way I can communicate anything and be truly anonymous (don’t get me started on the digital realm and its lack of privacy). Either way, it’s still a major part of who I am and I’d rather have an individual, flawed hand than write with machine-like precision—because all of those little quirks do tell a story and give an extra layer that goes beyond the words I choose. There is too much coldness, artificiality, and fakery in the world today. There is something about the warmth, honesty, and humanity of the written word that cannot be substituted by anything else. I love it for itself.

Please don’t abandon this simple act. Writing by hand is therapeutic for you; it can deeply touch others around you, as well—a nice, healing, rippling effect. Don’t let the digital domain dictate or dominate you—boldly rebel with a pen. It’s good for what ails you. And we’re all ailing to some extent, aren’t we?